


Unpredictable Yet Inevitable

by Wilde_Shade



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Anal Fisting, Anal Sex, Angst, M/M, Oral Sex, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-23 00:55:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4857047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wilde_Shade/pseuds/Wilde_Shade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stanford is having second thoughts at, perhaps, the worst possible time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unpredictable Yet Inevitable

**Author's Note:**

> After years of casually orbiting fandom from a comfortable distance, Gravity Falls had pulled me back in. It's gotten out of hand, so I'm here to dump the trash from my Stancest trash heap. Uploading this and several other fics all at once, (hopefully, the formatting survives transit) so this A/N will likely be copied and pasted a few times.
> 
> I'm not sure if I'll keep adding these fics to my AO3, but they will be added to my tumblr side blog o' sin. Feel free to follow: http://sheepishandshamefaced.tumblr.com/

 

Reestablishing a physical relationship had been a mistake. That Ford only realized this when he had his brother bent over a desk felt like his own fault. He sighed, still thrusting, hand twisting in the hem of the undershirt bunched in his fist.

“What was that?” Stan asked, words punctuated by shallow gasps each time he was shoved up against the desk. “Are you getting _bored_? Do not tell me you are fucking bored, Poindexter”

“I’m not bored, Stanley.” Ford pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand. If only it _was_ just boredom. “I’m thinking about when we were teenagers. All of this sneaking around. We knew it was wrong then. We know it’s wrong now.”

Stan folded his arms on the desk and laid his head down. “Now I’m getting bored.”

“I’m serious,” Ford insisted. “We’re too old for this.”

“Someone is,” Stan muttered.

Ford felt his face grow warm. He wasn’t exactly at full mast anymore. He pulled out, frustrated for a whole slew of reasons. His thoughts wouldn’t stop chasing themselves around in circles, and his body hated him for it. With another sigh, he folded himself over his brother. He just sort of slouched there in defeat for a while, miserable but unwilling to shut the window of intimacy between them just yet.

“It was fine when we were kids,” Ford complained.

“Oh?” Stan didn’t even lift his head from his arms.

Ford suspected his brother had stopped caring about two existential crises ago. He explained anyway. “I’ve given it some thought. I think it was easier to rationalize then because there was so much time ahead of us. In my mind, you were going to be married some day. I was going to be married to my work.”

“I care about, literally, none of this.”

“How did we end up this way?” Ford asked, rhetorically. “Just… screwing up each other’s lives.”

Stan raised his head in order to glare back at his brother. Ford folded his arms over Stan’s, cupping his hands and inclining his head in way of a halfhearted apology. Stan had wasted the last thirty years on his life specifically for his twin and, God help him, Ford loved him for it.

Stan laid his head back down - on Ford’s arms this time. Ford, in turn, rested his chin on Stan’s shoulder. “Where did we go wrong?”

Stan snorted. Beneath Ford’s hand, he raised his fingers, interlacing them. “Where _didn’t_ we go wrong?”

Ford closed his hands around Stan’s, growing nostalgic. He thought back to the first time they’d had sex and then the unintentional abstinence of intervening years when everyone else at college was busy getting laid, and… “Stanley, are you still hard?”

“You don’t have to say it all accusing like that,” Stan grumbled. “I’m getting mixed signals here. We gonna do this or not?”

Ford laughed. He hadn’t planned on it, but- He kissed the soft curve between Stan’s neck and shoulder. “Get on the desk,” he instructed before taking a step back.

Stan straightened, wincing a bit as his back gave a audible pop.

“We can always pick this up later,” Ford offered.

But Stan just rolled his eyes and got on the desk. Several books tumbled to the floor. “Get on with it, Sixer.”

Ford stepped up between his brother’s legs. He put one hand on Stan’s left thigh, the other going to his own cock.

“Well?” Stan prompted, growing impatient.

“Give me a second.”

Stan waited… And waited. “How many seconds are we talking here?”

“Stanley!” Now it definitely wasn’t going to happen. Ford planted a hand on Stan’s chest and pushed him backward.

Stan laid back. He fidgeted some, knocking more books to the floor and muttering complaints about Ford’s workspace. Ford, meanwhile, relocated the lube they’d been using. He had another, minor, existential crisis as he did so. That he had taken the time from repairing their fractured reality to manufacture sexual lubricant out of chemicals he had lying around in the basement and a few repurposed things from the pantry was yet another indicator of how very wrong all of this was.

Oh well.

Ford stepped between Stan’s legs again. He hooked one over his left shoulder and gave him a tug, pulling him partially off the desk. His right hand went to Stan’s ass. He didn’t shove any lube slick fingers in immediately. He let his touch roam for a moment. It had been less than ten minutes since they’d been fucking. Ford put in two fingers without issue.

Stan moved his hips, chest rising and falling with an impatient sigh. Ford smiled and drew both fingers out. When he pushed them back in, it was with a third. Stan leaned his head back, eyes closed, hands gripping the side of the desk - probably in anticipation. It had been a while since they had done this - more than forty years.

Ford pulled his fingers out and reached for the lube once more. He took a moment to stroke himself. He was hard again. They could have just gone back to fucking, but… well… They were doing this now.

“Did you get distracted?” Stan complained.

“A little,” Ford admitted. He let go of his own cock and got back to the business at hand - pun fully intended. He started with two again - pulling out and adding another each time he pushed back in. Three… Four… Five…

Stan swore and bit his bottom lip.

“Okay?” asked Ford. “We can stop.”

“Don’t you dare.”

Ford smiled. He pulled out all but two of his fingers. Rubbing slow, patient circles, he thought back to the - God, not the first time they had done this. That had been horrific. The second time was better- in the bathroom, home alone, Stan on all fours on the linoleum. That was the same horrible year everything changed. He’d held onto that memory for a while. It had gotten him through more lonely nights alone than he cared to admit.

Back to five fingers. Ford pulled out one last time, pressed his thumb in towards his fingertips, and pushed in all six. There was some resistance when he got to his knuckles.

Stan took a deep breath, eyes squeezed shut.

Ford pushed, gently at first, then more forcibly. And that was it. His hand was in. It was easy after that. He slid in up to his wrist, muscles contracting and relaxing around him. “Okay, Stanley?”

Stan was gripping the desk tighter than ever. Yet more books fell. Something breakable hit the floor and shattered. Probably not important. Hopefully not important. Stan opened his mouth to answer Ford, but all that came out was a shuddering breath. “Fuck,” he managed.

“Yes?” asked Ford, feeling confident enough that Stan was enjoying it to push in deeper.

“Yes,” Stan gasped, nodding enthusiastically. “Yes!”

Ford turned his arm. He shifted his fingers - slowly and ever so slightly, watching for changes in Stan’s expression - what made him gasp, what made him moan. He pulled out marginally, he pushed back in and- It didn’t take long at all, not nearly as long as it had when they were teenagers. Stan came with a ragged groan.

Ford pulled out, carefully. He hadn’t come yet and, suddenly, he had a desperate need to. He moved around to the side of the desk and climbed up onto it, straddling Stan’s chest. Stan gave a start but caught on soon enough. He propped himself on his elbows. Ford shifted onto his knees.

Stan took Ford into his mouth and all the way to the back of his throat with an effortless kind of ease. This certainly wasn’t the first time they had done this since Ford had returned from the portal.

One of Stan’s hands went to Ford’s hip. One of Ford’s hands twisted in Stan’s hair. Stan pulled back, tongue running along the length of Ford’s cock as he took him out of his mouth. He came before Stan got quite that far. Stan made a rather surprised, unhappy noise but dealt with it better than Ford.

Ford was painfully aware that his face was red even before he had finished. The second he was done, he pulled the rest of the way out. He promptly dropped down onto his brother and collapsed forward, pressing his face to Stan’s chest with a muffled groan.

Stan laid there for a moment - then Ford felt him move, look left then right. Finally, he spit what was left in his mouth out on the floor. “There’s lube everywhere,” he reasoned. “That’s gotta be like a drop in the bucket at this point.”

Ford didn’t complain. Ford said nothing. He didn’t move. He just stayed where he was. It wasn’t a surprise to him when Stan wrapped his arms around him or when he pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

Ford laid there a while longer then, finally, turned his head to one side. “We’re a mess,” he said, miserably, and partly to himself. “In, literally, every way.”

“Mm.” Stan laid there in silence, as if considering what he had said. The silence didn’t last terribly long. “Let’s go take a shower.”

“That’s not what I meant. I mean, yes, partly. But-”

“I know what you meant, Poindexter.” Stan gave Ford a soft shove. “Do you want to take a shower or not?”

Ford decided he did. He climbed off of his brother. Sex had left both of them rather sore - especially Stan, who appeared to be sore in new and exciting ways. They resolved to lock the door to the basement and just clean up the following day.

Stan located his boxer shorts. Ford buttoned his pants. They moved quietly up the stairs and down the hallway, making it to the bathroom unseen.

The lubricant was a bit of a nightmare.

“What the _hell_ , Stanford?”

“It’s non toxic. It’s fine,” Ford snapped, words probably not terribly reassuring given how furiously he was scrubbing at his own lubed up forearm. “Worst case scenario, it takes a little while. I stopped using it on machinery because it broke down after a week.”

“What the hell, Stanford?!”

“It’s fine!”

 

Raw and still too slick for comfort, they ended up in Stan’s bed. Ford was tired and followed Stan out of some long forgotten habit - like it was muscle memory that he follow Stan to their bedroom after sex.

Ford would have left but Stan didn’t make a big deal out of it. When he laid down, he laid down on his side, leaving room on the small bed for Ford.

Wordlessly, Ford locked the door and undressed down to his underwear. He climbed into bed beside his brother. It felt good to have his back to him. It felt warm and safe. When Stan brought the covers up over them both, he let his arm fall heavy across Ford. He pulled him close against his own body. “I missed you,” he said.

“Let’s…” Ford sighed. “Let’s not make a habit out of this.”

Stan gave a noncommittal grunt. A few moments later, he was snoring.

Ford let himself relax. “I missed you, too,” he said, quietly, huddling closer, lips brushing against Stan’s knuckles. Ford closed his eyes.


End file.
